Today Is Not Your Day
by yumaxx
Summary: Bella is on the run and struggling to make ends meet. When the outlaw Angel Eyes basically falls on her lap, she grabs the chance to bring him in. But she'll soon find out that catching and keeping an outlaw are two very different things. AU.
1. Chapter 1

I

There is a common saying in our world. _There are two kinds of people in this world, my friend, those with loaded guns and those who dig. _It's an age old truth that whoever holds the weapon holds the power. But somehow I didn't feel all too powerful standing there, even though I was holding one of the most powerful hand-weapons known to mankind. The man in front of me was smirking, obviously not impressed either.

"Ya gonna pull that trigger or what, sugah?" he leaned onto the wall, pushing his thumbs into his jeans. Oh I was tempted. I aimed at his head, picturing his pretty green eyes blown to smithereens, that sculpted face fractured. A trickle of sweat ran down my spine and my hand itched with the desire to wipe my forehead.

Show no mercy, they had said. Well I wasn't feeling merciful but I was no killer, either.

"Move," I gestured towards the door with the gun. He paused for a moment, my hand clutched the gun a little tighter and then he moved. I let out a breath and followed him. The room was bathed in orange, the setting sun trickling through the blinds. There was only one bed covered with a thin, graying bedspread and a very uncomfortable looking chair inside. Next to the door, there was a small dresser with a jug of water and a muggy glass on top.

"Cozy," he said and sat on the bed. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. I was getting a headache and the dull air in the room didn't help.

"Open the window," I nodded towards the blinds and lifted the gun straighter.

"Getting hot, sugah?" the smirk was back but he did as asked. I didn't reward him with a reply but pulled the handcuffs from my back-pocket. When he turned back towards the room, he frowned at the sight of them.

"Is there really any need for those?"

"Get on the bed and lift your hands up," I hissed. He gave a laugh.

"Now that's a nice command from a pretty lady."

"Go on, get," I heard my voice betray my frustration. My back was wet, the shirt clinging to my skin. I needed some water. But first things first. As he leaned on the bed, raising his hands towards the wrought iron head-frame, I threw the handcuffs on the bed.

"Tie your other hand up."

He looked at me, his eyes piercing. I kept my face still, the gun pointing at him. Finally, he blew out some air and grabbed the cuffs. When he was done, I asked him to yank the cuffs. The iron didn't even budge. Good.

"I assume you've got the key," he said and leaned back on his arm. If anyone had walked in, they would have assumed he was ready to seduce a lady, laying on the bed in his white wife-beater and worn jeans and boots, his hair mussed up, his picture perfect lips curled into a pout. It wasn't hard to imagine how easy it had been for him to get out of trouble with those good looks. I had heard that once, he had even faced a jury, but they hadn't been able to convict him because none of the females in the jury had believed him guilty.

Satisfied he wasn't going anywhere soon, I walked to the dresser, lay my gun on it and poured me some water. I sat on the chair, slowly letting the liquid smooth my tight throat. My hands had a slight tremor so I rested them on my thighs between the sips.

"Care to give me some of that," his voice sounded raspier and he coughed. I smiled at his theatrics and raised the glass in his honor.

"Not enough to share," I swallowed the glass empty. His eyes never lost their sheen as he nodded.

"May I ask my captor's name, Miss?"

I had heard of how he had tricked all the people who had tried to bring him to justice and thought it best to remain silent.

"Very well, I'll introduce myself first. My name is Edward A.M. Cullen but you may know me better as Angel Eyes." I humphed at the nickname. But of course it wasn't a reference to his nature but to his looks. A fallen angel if there ever was one.


	2. Chapter 2

II

"Bella! Git your bony ass here, girl!"

You could hear Mrs T's voice echo in the valley, it was probably loud enough to cause a rockslide. I leaned against Nettie and inhaled her scent. Hay, fresh air and horses. Nettie flicked away some flies and shuffled her feet.

"Impatient, huh girl," I whispered and smoothed my hand down her neck. "Tomorrow. Just you wait, love," I gave her a little scratch, lifted the water pail and dragged my feet towards the house.

Mrs T was standing on the doorway, hands on her hips, her face drawn in straight lines. One horizontal for her thin mouth, one vertical between her brows.

"Where the hell have you been," the veins on her throat bulged as she screamed at me. Oh how I wished one of them would pop. I entertained myself with a vision of Mrs T's neck slashing open, blood gushing out and spraying all over her.

"Getting the water," I dropped the pail on to the ground. It sloshed and some water hit the ground.

"You half-wit!" she screeched and grabbed the broom. "You bring that water in and get another one, Mr Fells needs a bath tonight. And be quick at it." she slashed the broomstick at me and I figured it best to do as she said. For just one more night.

I made myself scarce after I had fetched all four pails of water, scrubbed the pans and stocked the firewood basket. Mr Fells was done eating and beckoning for his bath and I intended to be nowhere near when he started stripping was skinny and mean just like Mrs T and liked his liquor. Mrs T was supposedly his landlady but those two had been together for as long as I could remember. What joy they got from their union I had no idea.

As I climbed above the stalls and stretched onto the lean hay-filled mattress I banished the thoughts of them from my mind and concentrated on the next day. My big escape.


	3. Chapter 3

III

The outlaw was asleep. The last rays of the sun painted his skin golden, making his hair burn auburn. He shifted on the bed, his brow turning into a soft frown. He made a small noise in his throat that was almost a whimper. His free hand was twitching and his feet were shaking.

"n—no," he mumbled, his handsome face crumbling into such display of fear, I wanted to get up and smooth his hair.

The nightmare seemed to worsen as he kept tossing on the bed, his eyes squeezed tight, his hand trying to shield him. Then his upper body sprang up from the bed and his eyes flew open. He let out his breath in deep pants, his gaze unfocused. His arm was stretched behind him, his hand still tied to the iron bedpost. He yanked at the cuff, hissing. Then he looked around and when he saw me, he took in a quick breath. His face was contorted in pain and I watched in wonder as it slowly smoothed down, the frown giving away to his usual smooth look. He brushed back his hair and looked at me again, but this time the smirk was gone.

"Not a very comfy bed," he said and when I gave a laugh, he looked almost hurt. So the killer had his weaknesses. Watching him suffer hadn't been fun but I felt more comfortable knowing he was human, too.

"You want some water," I asked and immediately regretted the words. The smirk was back, and he nodded.

"Sure, sugah," his confidence had returned and he leaned back on the bed again.

"The name's Bella," I said and gave him the glass. He lifted it in salute.

"Here's to you. Bella the Bountyhunter," he made it sound like the worst insult.

"So how much am I worth exactly? Last time I looked it was around ten grand. Old money." He seemed proud of his price.

"More like five. And how the hell do you think anyone would even have ten grand of old ones lying around. The money's practically evaporating," I took the empty glass from him and put it on the dresser.

"That's the trouble with cash. Unless it's gold or plastic it's not going to last. Hell, I can't make even gold last for long," he shrugged. His gambling habit was well known. Adding that to the list of his sins it was probably one of the minor ones.

"Plastic's not worth much these days," I said, knowing the couple of cards I had in my back-pocket would barely fetch me a piece of bread.

"Nothing's worth much these days," he said.

"Do I detect some cynicism? The jaded killer, who values nothing, not even life," I lifted my brow at him.

"Life's not worth much. Not when men will gladly kill for nothing but empty promises."

"Bet you've killed for less than that," I wiped my hands against my jeans. Talking to him wasn't a good idea. It was pretty likely I'd have to shoot him at some point, unless the sheriff really was coming. God I hoped the sheriff was coming.

"I've killed four men. All of them deserved it." he looked at me, his eyes empty of emotion. No smile on his face this time, though.

"Do you deserve it?" I asked.

He gave a dry laugh. "Suppose I do."

"How did it feel, killing those men?" the words were out before I could stop myself. Here I was, having a polite chat about killing. Me, who had never killed more than a couple of chickens and even that had always made me sick.

He was silent for a while, looking somewhere beyond me. Then his eyes met mine.

"It feels like death," he said. Then he slouched back, crossed his boots and closed his eyes. "It's late. You should get some rest. It won't be easy to get me to the train tomorrow."

My eyes were burning from the need to close them and my head felt like a beehive but his words kept me wide awake. No, it wouldn't be easy tomorrow. I had gotten him in here without anyone noticing but tomorrow would be a different thing. There would be men waiting at the station, men who would take one look at him and shoot him dead at first sight. Men who would just as easily kill me, to get the reward. I couldn't march him there on gunpoint. And he wouldn't go anywhere unless I held a gun to him. I needed a plan and I needed one fast.


End file.
